


today

by soliloquium



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Resentment, Romance, insufficient descriptions of makeouts, post s5, theres just a lot of disjointed fronts here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24499033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soliloquium/pseuds/soliloquium
Summary: Let's admit, without apology, what we do to each other, we know who our enemies are. We know.Catra and Adora, trying to navigate their post war relationship and inevitably getting lost along the way
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 118





	today

**Author's Note:**

> Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,  
> Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,  
> To the last syllable of recorded time;  
> And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
> The way to dusty death

When Adora wakes up, the first thing she notices is the lack of heat source beside her. Fear grips her tightly; its nails made of the last few months where being alive at the end of the day was a sort of pseudo victory. This isn't a room she recognizes, not in the dark, with the back-blue of the twisted, melancholic shadows. But then she is jolted out of her jarring, terrified reverie. This is Catra's room.   
  
Bow and Glimmer flocked, almost apologetically, to a separate bed after they finally fixed the world. Adora doesn't mind, not on principal; lovers need privacy and she doesn't relish the idea of being stuck to the bare edge of the mattress to awkwardly avoid interrupting a romantic cuddling session.   
  
The first night, she optimistically assumed she'd be able to get used to it. After 6 hours of staring at a gloomily dark ceiling, eye twitching from the irritation of being awake, she caved and marched into Catra's room, armed with a pillow and a _very_ sad face. Catra didn't appreciate being woken up at 3 AM but all the same, within 2 minutes, Adora was curled into the soft, familiarity of her friend-turned-enemy-turned-gf and drifted.   
  
For one, stupid, foolish, scary moment, Adora assumes Catra has left but there she is by the glass-less window, Melog perched faithfully by her side, her silhouette bathed in silvery moonlight. Adora trudges towards her ethereal form, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder (that isn't how girlfriends are supposed to be) but when that feels insufficient, her arms drift lower to her waist, hugging her from behind.  
  
Adora leans on her, mumbling into soft skin, her voice drenched in sleepiness , "come back to bed. There's nothing out there anymore. Nothing can hurt us anymore."  
  
"Horde Prime wasn't the only evil ever out there," Catra's eyes are fixated on something in the sky, the vastness of the deep, of space, a map of stars that will never stop unraveling, and among those beautiful, transient fusion bombs, hiding, are all sorts of dangers, "I heard something two hours ago. Someone watching us."  
  
"Two hours-?" Adora groans into her, "Catra, you cant 'hear' someone watching you. It was probably just a stray cat or sum'...fing..." a yawn swallows her next words.  
  
"3 AM is the perfect time for semantics," comes Catra's sarcastic response.  
  
Adora peers over her girlfriends shoulder, loftily gazing into the glowing night, "'s pretty.." Shades of mauve, pink, even some green, spinning above the. It was strange to think they'd been there only a month prior; stranger to realize this wasn't the same sky that they'd had whilst they were in Despondos. This emptiness is concrete. They could put their hand in and come out with something in their palms.  
  
When Catra doesn't respond, Adora prods her again, "You're nervous? About tomorrow- you know, there's no reason to be, the court hearing it's more of a formality than anyth-"  
  
"I know it is," there's a hum of irritation under her words, bumblebees fumbling angrily, "you've reminded me every three hours since they decided I'd have one. Besides, what could they ever do to the girlfriend of She-Ra? Nepotism is amazing when it works in your favour, isn't it?"  
  
Belligerence is Catra's most dominant character trait, and yet Adora feels disappointed almost every time. "I'm sorry- would you like to go to prison for your war crimes?"  
  
"If that's what the public thinks I should have, then maybe."  
  
"The public doesn't know you- it doesn't know what you've done, what you've sacrificed, all it sees is the Horde Soldier hell-bent on destroying the rebellion, the one that would capture princesses, was obsessed with She-Ra."  
  
"Have you ever considered that maybe they think that because that's what I am- was. Was." Catra's hand clasps over Adora's and yet her eyes turn steel. They're not gazing anymore, they're avoiding.   
  
"The tense makes a difference. I was in the Horde once too, remember? If they can forgive me-"  
  
"You weren't self-aware. You've never been. Which isn't an insult so much as it is testament to your innocence- _don't_." There is a tease to Catra's voice, but Adora also knows not to protest yet, "I was driven, I wanted _to kill you_ , I had multiple chances, you reached for my hand mutiple times and I simply didn't take it. I think that should count for something. War crimes should count for something."  
  
"If you really want redemption so badly, I can take you to the dungeons right now, you can spend a week or two there, thinking about all the things you did wrong, mentally torture yourself as you mull over your daily meal of grey protein bars. And then you can come out of the dungeons, I can unchain you, and nothing will have changed except for the time you wast-"  
  
Catra pushes Adora's hands away. "Forget it." There would always be some bridges that we be impossible to cross. They are opposites, always have been. Adora lookes at the good, Catra looks at the bad. Adora demands perfection from herself, Catra expects the world to turn her way. They are both delusional, in their own rights, two extremes with little reconciliation, standing at two far ends, and yet, when Catra whispered I love you in the darkness, held her at the end of the world, there was a compromise. Catra knocked on the door.   
  
Tentatively. A barely there force.  
  
They hadn't said those words again but it existed between them now, a magnetic, an unsearchable force of attraction. They were girlfriends in the loosest way.   
  
But Adora still climbs into bed after Catra does, and their limbs still entangled. Two soft bodies, breathing under a blanket.   


* * *

  
Brightmoon courts are as ridiculously pink, glittery and ornate as if they came out of a Barbie movie, Catra notes, or she would have if she'd ever seen one. As she idly plucks at the all too frilly ribbon in front of her, she wonders if that's really a bad thing.   
  
King Micah is going on about kindness and redemption, Glimmer at his side and everyone in the room except Catra is nodding along, empathetic. War crimes have never been so saccharine. Catra accidentally tears at the lilac cloth. Underneath, she spies a sliver of brown hardwood, far more her style. Maybe she can redecorate her room like this.  
  
Scratching at the grandeur until she finds something more concrete. More her. Frayed edges and stray threads might add texture. Who knows.   
  
There are few people in this room, all mostly high class etherians, princesses or higher-ups that know enough about diplomacy to realize that labeling this farce of a trial injust would be far too cataclysmic for this post war era. The big guys, the king on the chess board and the guy maneuvering the pieces are all gone now, they'll allow her to get away for aid. The Horde had been doing a number on them for decades, after all. Lots of crumpled up, paper buildings, remnants of old housing states, shops with nothing to sell, a few untouched villages so innocuous the Horde didn't bother.  
  
There is so much rebuilding to do.  
  
King Micah begins reading something from a rule book written centuries ago. Strange how we differ to the past to guide our future so often. Afterall, times have changed, morals have changed. Weaponry, technology, population numbers. Catra sincerely doubts that the ancient Etherians that wrote this pretty paragraph about forgiving sins could've imagined the magnitude with which one man and a lot of killer robots could've leveled their cities.   
  
At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter.  
  
Catra knows the real reason she's in this room and not chained up in a dungeon somewhere. The real reason. The most serious person in this room. Sharp, seaside eyes bore down into Catra's own. Adora offers her what's supposed to be a placating thumbs-up. Very nice.  
  
For a moment, they're the only people in the room. Staring at each other.   
  
Until King Micah coughs awkwardly, "Adora- would you like to stand up here for your witness testimony if you're finished with your-"  
  
"Right-!" Adora scrambles up to the podium and Catra fights the urge to snicker. Adora hasn't assimilated, not really. To the trained eye, you could notice the occasional falters, the blanks in her knowledge, the 18 years of indoctrination. Today, Adora had cheerfully thrust a fruit in Catra's palm without knowing the name of it. It's almost endearing.   
  
Adora begins, detailing all of Catra's transgressions with large furnishings of her hand. An ungraceful bird. Knocks over a cup of water in her haste but doesn't notice, maybe doesn't care enough to. Catra fixates on the water droplets. On the small waterfall. Could it drown an ant? Maybe.   
  
Everyone shifts uncomfortably over the bullet point crimes. Terrorizing princess prom, kidnapping glimmer and bow, pulling the trigger to open the portal. Catra wants to face palm but she can't, because then Adora would falter and more than hurt her trial, it'd make Catra feel like a shit friend.  
  
The redemption part comes in. The part everyone already knows. Saving glimmer at her own expense, helping them fight Horde Prime. An _invaluable member of the team_ is the phrase Adora uses and Catra thinks that's utter bullshit. But, whatever, she guesses, scraping her nails once more against the fragile frills.  
  
Adora ends on a hesitant note. _Also, she's my-_ and then can't finish the sentence. This isn't the sort of thing you put in a court hearing, Catra knows, having read a few trial transcripts the day before. But Adora is cute so she'll let it slide. They let most things slide about each other. Adora more than Catra. But that's a different story.  
  
There's a lot of clapping, a stately nod from Micah, a roll of the eyes from Catra. And it's over.  


* * *

  
They throw a party. Whatever that means in the ordinary dictionary is lost to Catra because to her it means too many people she doesn't know making too much noise. And stealing away her not-girlfriend.  
  
People orbit Adora like flowers turning their face to the sun. She's likeable, but more than that, she's She-Ra. She is impossibility incarnate. And Who Wouldn't Cling To Those Arms?  
  
Catra sips her apple juice in silence, feeling very much like a raven among parakeets.   
  
"You look like you're having fun."  
  
It's the water princess lady. Blue hair, brown skin, impossibly thick. She takes place beside Catra with a sardonic smile, propping a ladylike one leg on top of the other.  
  
"As much fun as you, clearly." It comes out as a rough hiss. Catra is impressed when water princess merely raises an eyebrow.  
  
"I am, like, not that peppy. They're all, like, super sweet and all but it'd be a lie to say they aren't, like, totally headache inducing sometimes."  
  
The rest of the princesses are a clusterfuck of colours and chirpy voices. There's swiftwind among them too, some people from the general public who have managed to get into the sacred circle. Catra can't tell if they're playing a game or if shoving each other while laughing obnoxiously is just their modus operandi for conversation.  
  
"A polite way of saying irritating but I can respect that. I guess. Where's your sea faring boyfriend?"  
  
"Fuck if I know. Fuck if I care," Catra can't tell if there's a residue of frustration in her words or if her cavalier attitude is genuine. Maybe it is. Maybe he's sometimes headache inducing, as Adora is, as most of them are. There's not an inferential meaning behind every word, after all, not a secret sword fight in every competition. Catra is still bad at playing hopscotch. Finding verbal footing.   
  
Silence wafts between them but it's comfortable.   
  
"So you're not going to optimistically suggest I join them, are you? You're not some diplomatic proxy for me to 'join the fun' and to stop me from being an 'emo'."  
  
"It's 2020, nobody uses the word emo anymore," her teenage drawl is amused, blunt, "and no, sweetie, I don't think that's in your best interest. Most of them there don't like you. Even less of them trust you."   
  
Catra doesn't mind. In fact, she appreciates the candor. Less stepping stones.   
  
"And you do?"  
  
"Well," Mermista drawls, thinking, then smirks, "not after the way you dramatically leaped into Adora's arms after we killed Horde Prime. I swear to god you were, like, swooning. Gotta admit, not your most bad-ass moment."  
  
Catra's rebuttal is swallowed up, however, when Adora's light giggle leaps over the others. Carried by the wind. She sounds like sunshine and rainbows, as she should. One more look and that stupid circle of happy people looks as un-penetrable as ever. Adora in the center. The one the world orbits. Air is held hostage in Catra's lungs.  
  
"She doesn't do well without you, you know," Mermista's voice is soft, now, it feels like her version of a pat on the shoulder, "like, y'know, after you abandoned her before the big fight. Bow told me she was wrecked. Like a sad, lost little puppy."  
  
"I think that was less because of me and more because she was maybe about to die," is Catra's dry response.  
  
A chuckle, "girl, you have issues. No. I've been with Adora for a while- less than you have," She adds, hasty and amused when Catra starts up," but I'm also not the one sucking face with her every hour or so. So I think my opinion is, like, less biased. She's different now that she has you back with her. She's a lot more... vivid. More outgoing, she wouldn't have gotten caught up so easily with them right now if you weren't here. 5 meters away. She was a ghost sometimes, lost, and I don't blame her considering her last 18 years of life were sort of a lie. She'd sometimes get up in the middle of the night and stare in the direction of the Crimson Waste like she was determined to go there, to bring something back. Some of us were like, worried, but now I know she was, like. That direction-less-ness. That was about you. All of it, you."  
  
"Could also be a side-effect of- I dunno. saving the universe?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure that's why she keeps sneaking glances at you, too," Mermista says slyly before getting up and going to wrap her arms around her boyfriend. Fuck that, indeed. There's no mistaking the open affection with which she kisses his mouth. The joke that follows, that empty threat that seems so much like irritation to third parties, but is a love letter to those who know.  
  
Somewhere in the crowd, Adora laughs again, impossibility incarnate. And this time her bright eyes catch Catra's.  
  
Maybe they were both just looking at the wrong time.  


* * *

  
They have their own private celebration afterwards. The lights are turned down to a dim, orangey hue and Adora's hair is down for once. Likewise, Catra's hands are constantly tangled in it.   
  
"Maybe I should cut it off and give it to you if you're so infatuated. I feel like you'd rather make out with my hair then me," Adora jokes and Catra tugs her forward, leveraged by the silky strands, to her lips, whispering a pissy _Don't be fucking stupid._ Adora isn't sure if the words are aimed at the idea of cutting it or at the making out suggestion but her brain cells are too occupied with kissing to respond.  
  
They're still not the best at this, guessing when to kiss, when to touch, what's appropriate ground right now- but they make up fpr that by being good at kissing. Stellar, in fact. This sort of affection is still new territory and yet it feels as natural as breathing.   
  
Catra bumps Adora into the sidetable and a glass shatters which is certainly not what's supposed to happen.   
  
"W-wait-" Adora mumbles reluctantly, shocked out of her transe, "I've got something I wanted to show you."  
  
And out comes the alcohol. Ah.  
  
"Adora, do you even know what that is?"  
  
"Yes. It's Alcol. Mermista says it tastes amazing and that it's an old tradition reserved for romantic moments."  
  
"And for very un-romatic moments. And bad moments, in fact I'm pretty sure the negative times outweigh the positive ones."  
  
"Oh," Adora falters, turning to the overtly pink tiles, downcast and something in Catra's abdomen clenches. Maybe the death of butterflies, "then maybe we shouldn't-?"  
  
"No-! No. Let's do it." She'd heard of it before, even taken a not so nice, secret sip when Lonnie had stolen one from an older force captain. Liquid courage was what they'd labelled it. A sip of this didn't burn her tongue with bubbles as it went down, however, and it was still overtly pink and sweet. Like everything else here. Maybe brightmoon contamined things. Maybe if Catra stayed long enough, her hair would turn an even colour of magenta too.   
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
Catra thrusts the bottle at Adora's face, grabbing her by the shoulder as she does, "Stop asking questions and take a sip you pussy."  
  
"HeY- CATRa-" They play wrestle until Catra gets sick of it and Adora gives in, wrinkling her nose as she did.  
  
"Didn't like it, loser?"  
  
"It tastes less pink than it should," Adora rubs her chin, contemplative, taking another taste before Catra snatches it away and downs a gulp for herself, "Greedy-ass."  
  
"I'm doing this for you. Self-control is not your strong suit."  
  
"Excuse _me_ -? not my strong suit??"   
  
Catra puts a hand to Adora's face, pushing as she drinks again, laughing. These are the best moments. The two of them, in solitude, pawing at each other with their mix of affection and fond frustration. It feels like when they were kids, almost, except that the intensity is turned all the way up to 10 and Catra is so very aware that promised can always break, that Adora is teetering at the edge, that one push can be too much.   
  
"Catraaaa," Adora whines, grabbing her arm and pulling her close, "What do you mean?" insecurity in broad daylight. Catra doesn't feel like being serious today.  
  
"I dunno. Self-awareness, I guess." Her finger twirls Adora's blonde strand around her finger, trying to tease, "but what would our favourite cartoon hero be without a martyr complex?"  
  
That feels too sour. Catra knows before Adora says anything. Too sour, a push too far.  
  
"Having morals-"  
  
"I don't need a lecture today, Adora. What I do need, however..."  
  
They're kissing again. More liquid than before, more clumsy than before but that's alright because everything between their bodies is starlight, fusion bombs, space, completely unfathomable to the naked human eye, just like outside the glass-less window. Adora pushes Catra against the overtly pink wall and Catra flips them over, panting, so Adora is the one with her back pressed against the wallpaper. This is them, the constant tug of war, the constant power play. Catra might be a little intoxicated but not simply on the champagne. Somewhere among their faumbling, there's the barely-there whisper of _I need you_ and Catra's heart stutters a painful staccato.   
  
There's a bit of scratching, biting, Adora's shirt came off long ago and the way she stares at catra when their lips part can only be described as besotted. Her thumb palms Catra's cheek, it's all too much, its hard to focus on the entirety of a crimescene when the body is right there. "So what now-?" Adora asks in her soft, daydream haze.   
  
The stutter is back, louder and all encompassing. Catra's finger bumps against an indent in Adora's skin, scratch marks, the muscle memory of the way it felt to cut into her, the nails, a paper like fragility.   
  
"Now..." Her hands fall away, her voice trails down a tunnel, where there is no ending, no light There is so much distance. Unpenetratable. Clenched fists.   
  
Adora understands and doesn't immediately, "oh."  
  
"Yeah," Catra responds, lamely. She's always been bad with words, takes a step back.   
  
"That's- that's okay! We don't need to do anything right now. We have all the time in the world, it's fine," Adora fumbles, hopping on one shoe to her shirt and pulling it back on, "We can watch a movie! That's another romance tradition they have in Brightmoon."   
  
"Sure," Catra responds blandly as she leans against the wall, trying to regain her composure from the last mile, and then, because this is Adora, the always-abyss she can pour (some) her thoughts into, "I never understood those. Why would someone want to spend their time watching other people live their lives."  
  
"It is sort of weird, I guess. Maybe it's because you can only live one life and movies show you all the lives you won't get the chance to live. Or maybe it's because movies are happier, everyone's issues gets solved."  
  
Only one life.  
  
Catra takes one look at Adora's outstretched hand and isn't sure if she can do this anymore. _Come here,_ the gesture says, _come here so we may cuddle and forget that the world was burning yesterday and you were the one with the matches._ Catra doesn't move.  
  
The moment is stretched taunt, rubber band like, until it breaks and the flood gates open. The dams have to open at some point, don't they, you idiots who keep filling them with water.  
  
Adora's voice cracks, something Catra's only heard a number of times before, fissures filled with emotion and distress as she marches towards the champagne glass, "You know if you don't want me, you should just say so."  
  
"What-?" Catra almost laughs, instead she takes that mean tone, pinning the blame, a _this is all your fault,_ "Are you sure you don't fucking mean the other way around? Breaking up with the broken isn't very hero like, I'm sure the Etherian Gossip Collumns will have a field day when they realize that princess Adora has broken up with her childhood best friend-"  
  
Adora sits on the couch, the emotion turning caustic now, all acid, ready to burn, "Don't pretend to know my motives. You clearly never have."  
  
"You feel sorry for me and that's why-" Vomit words, angry plastic knives, that's all they are and they both know it. That Catra doesn't mean any of it. But that doesn't mean that Adora isn't just.  
  
So tired.   
  
There's only so much you can do to save the world before the power runs out.   
  
"I think you should leave, Catra."  
  
"This is my room," she says meanly, because there's nothing else to say.  
  
"Okay," Adora gets up, defeated, "Then I'll leave."   
  
It shouldn't hurt as much as it does. 

* * *

  
Adora will always be within arms reach, Catra knows this now. But there's still that sliver of a questionmark, that small heart-attack when she opens the door to Adora's room and she isn't there at first glance.  
  
The glass doors to the balcony are pulled wide open on purpose, however, and behold; Adora, bathed in silvery moonlight.  
  
Catra abandons whatever trepidation she has to go forward, fold herself around her girlfriend. In her arms, Adora stiffens but then melts, weak. Adora has never been one for resentment, afterall. Even as children, as the rebellion, Adora never threw her punch. Not at catra. Not after that once.   
  
Adora is a woman driven by justice but for Catra; warm, familiar, home, there's a special softness reserved.  
  
The alcohol has exacerbated it, however.   
  
Pressing her cheek to Adora's shoulder, Catra tells her, "I love you." It's the first time uttering the words since the battle and they hang in the air, as tangible and yet unfathomable as the glowy lights in the sky,  
  
"You say. Because you feel sorry for me," it's only half a joke but Adora relaxes into the embrace, just a little bit more malleable. Those three magic words can only do so much.  
  
"Because I'm in love with you," Catra corrects.  
  
"Because you think I can fix you," Adora says it like a question, turns to Catra almost imploringly. Words that make her quiver. So much of her life now is built on what she can do for others that its terrifying. That if she stops being able to give, they'll turn away.  
  
"No, because I love you. Because you're Adora. Because of the stupid way you decide to tie your ponytail or the way you attempt to suffocate me in your sleep or the way you're loyal and strong and stupid in ways I'll never be. Because you're secretly a show off. Because you're desperate for everyone's appro-"  
  
"I am not-" comes Adora's half-hearted protest.  
  
"You're an ass-kisser and that's _facts._ "   
  
Adora contemplates this, "not your ass, though."  
  
"No. You certainly kiss _other_ places of my body quite fervently, but ass is a little much, even for me. Because," Catra prompts, trying to pull her into the right train of thought.  
  
"Because you'll never be approve of m- OW."   
  
"Your self awareness levels scare me," Catra deadpans.  
  
Adora rubs her side, pouting, before elbowing Catra back. Her voice has taken on that slow, stupid cadence she gets when sleepy. Or drunk, "Why are we talking like _I'm_ the one who ruined our date with my insecurities."  
  
"Because my _angry, unreasonable outbursts_ \- not insecurities - are the norm. I'll say something stupid, you call me out and then the next day we forget about my bullshittery."  
  
"I don't think that's how normal relationships are supposed to work," Adora muses, sad.   
  
Before them, Brightmoon is all glowing buildings, too-bright lamplights, a landscape that goes on and on. It's still overtly pink. Obnoxious. It's inhabitants smile too much even on the rainier days, which are far too few in-bewteen. Catra can appreciate a new grey cloud cacophony. It'd remind her a little more of crimson waste, her old home. But this is her new home, or maybe it isn't, because maybe they'll move someday, take a 5 year adventure into space, and that green planet next to the third star will become home. Anywhere can be home, really, so long as Adora exists there.  
  
"I know, I'm sorry," Catra tightens her arms around her Adora, "I need you, too, y'know? The years without you hardcore sucked."  
  
"Yeah, your increasingly depressed hairstyle made it obvious."  
  
"Don't act like you didn't enjoy the boob window."  
  
"A window for which boo- ow, ow okay I'm sorRY," Adora re-tightens her ponytail, which had loosened from the abuse, but doesn't stop Catra when she pulls the hair tie off entirely, "I'm telling you there's a fetish here."   
  
"Now who's ruining the date."  
  
"You because normal girlfriends don't pull their girlfriend's hair out just because they're spitting facts."  
  
Catra intertwines their fingers, brings Adora's hand gently to her lips, "Girlfriends, huh? I think we're getting presumptuous, _just because I was making out with you ten minutes ago doesn't mean I like you."_  
  
Adora laughs, sweet and bell like and she is all the good things that will ever be in Catra's world. She turns around and they kiss, the universe mellows out into pale, soft colours, even the sky turns a more friendly, welcoming shade of dark blue.  
  
"I'm calling you out on that bullshittery, you are 100 percent my girlfriend, have verified from an authentic source."  
  
"Who's your source?" Catra asks, teasing.  
  
"Me, an expert on all things Catra," Adora presses a hand to her lovers cheek, promising her, "and I'll call you out on your bullshittery tomorrow. And the tomorrow after that. And every tomorrow, evermore."  
  
"I'd like that, mostly because I'm sure criticism from anyone else would result in insurmountable violence," Catra jokes as she tugs Adora inside, except she really would like that.   
  
The stars glimmer outside them, watching benevolently, knowing that their future is all shades of bright. 

**Author's Note:**

> possibly the worst thing i've ever written but plot bunnies are impossible to shoo away :,) feedback greatly appreciated!!


End file.
